


What Do You Have To Lose?

by BarnabyB



Category: Broadway - Fandom, Hamilton - Fandom
Genre: Anarchy, Character Development, Death, Dystopia, F/F, F/M, Family, Freedom, Hamilton is like a dad to Phillip, Heterosexual, Hiphop, Homosexual, Love, M/M, Morals, Revolution, SO, War, beautiful dad Burr, corrupt government, hamiltrash, lesson learning, overthrowing government, that'll be pretty great
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-08
Updated: 2017-01-08
Packaged: 2018-09-15 20:38:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,528
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9256043
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BarnabyB/pseuds/BarnabyB
Summary: "Only those with military status or political status may have a name."General Aaron Burr, a slave under the King, had a lot to live for, and even more to die for. He was left alone in a world twisted and tarnished by an endless venom to raise a five month old little girl, who went by the credentials (21-1783). Upon seeing this little girl grow up to admire him, he started questioning the Aodh, and, frankly, everything they stood for.This was only the first little 'snap!' in his damaged psyche. On one fateful evening, General Aaron Burr was making his usual rounds with his fellow personnel. What was unusual about this, however, was their final destination - - the homestead of (11-1755) and (22-1782). He is greeted by none other than the infamous (11-1755) at the door, and so their first impressions take place.This is not the last time General Burr comes into contact with (11-1755). Over time, he starts to develop a different mindset on everyday civilians, particularly this one man with controversial, debate-starting eyes, and strong, smart-talking lips.





	

**Author's Note:**

> If you see any grammatical issues, please inform me about them! Also, I love criticism. If you think that there is something I can do to improve my writing, go ahead and tell me!
> 
> . . Also! This is based off of an AU constructed by a user named "Scruffy" on the Amino app. Check them out, they're pretty cool!

"Stop! Wait, please! Please!"

 

 

Have you ever seen a grown man cry? Have you ever seen a man so touched by fear that he would stand by his kitchen sink in unbridled, indiscriminated terror, until said terror eventually leveled out into a tranquility not defined by peacefulness, but, rather, acceptance? Have you ever seen a man desperate enough to beg and beg and beg to his oppressors, his demons, his devils . . despite the humiliation and self-depletion it executed in his daily life, shown through his many aimless tasks and dreamless nights? Have you ever seen a man snap, like a large rock thrown into a small, flooded ravine? Now, have you ever seen a grown man cry, as in, truly cry? Have you seen a man bawl and shake uncontrollably, until he was red in the face and gasping for air? 

General Burr had seen it daily, if not hourly. This occasion was no different, which helped him keep a straight, professional face throughout the whole ordeal. The man was coddled at the front of his shoe, and bent about his feet like a domestic house cat, which, by the sounds of it, was in desperate need of being put down. He was wheezing continuously, and his pale cheeks were lined with sloppy tears, all of which eventually pooled on the stage beneath of him. 

"Please! I have daughters! I have . . I have three daughters! What will they do without me? Please! Please!"

This was almost incoherent, and seemed to be either unheard by the other generals on stage, or just completely disregarded. Burr looked down upon the man on the floor, and pitied him, for he, too, was a father, and he didn't know how his daughter would cope without him. Nonetheless, he kept quiet, and eventually dispersed his gaze amongst the civilians that were forcibly removed from their homes, and seated in the large, mausoleum-like building in which nearly all of the murders, or liberations, against the People were committed. Burr stared straight into the lens of the camera leeched on to the front stage, and saw his reflection look back at him with the same haggard, worry-worn, and, notably, nerve-wracked face that he called ownership of.

The assassination of (Mr. Schulyer) was going to be a widely broadcasted affair, and the People would surely be shocked that such a cash cow was going to be put down. After all, it only went to show that no matter your status, you would always be lower than the oppressors. You would, always, be lower than the oppressors.

Everyone in the New York area was in the stadium tonight. The only exception were the young, weak, and elderly, and even then, they couldn't escape the grasp of the Aodh. They would be forced to watch the live broadcast, and endure just as much as the people in attendance. Hell, Burr had even heard a little rumor that the man's daughters were in the stadium at that very moment.

He had to try not to care. And, honestly, he had managed quite well, for through years of brain control and speech hindrance, he had finally learned how to successfully dehumanize human beings on command. After all, they were just numbers, allowed to live for breeding purposes and such, just like livestock on a farm. Livestock. That's what Burr had decidedly compared (Mr. Schulyer) to in his last moments.

"Please!"

This man had been proven guilty of treason, and the punishment for that was, unsurprisingly, in such an oppressive era, death. The gun stood in the middle of the stage on a desk, with a single bullet in its chamber craving blood.

This had gone on long enough. Burr eventually kicked lightly at (Mr. Schulyer's) side, before loosely grabbing his wrist, and welding his eyes on to the other's.

"It's time."

This had stirred something within the culprit, and he automatically began to flail around like a child anticipating a shot.

"No! No, please! Hear me out, please!"

"Up." He had said this with a potent demand on his tongue, yet his eyes spoke of conflict and unease. (Mr. Schulyer), a man of business, must of seen this.

"You don't want to do this!" His tears had ceased in pure fright, and his eyes were wide, with red lines of blood clotting them pugnaciously. He had ripped his hand back from Burr's, and overlapped it over his wrist, shaking it immensely as to enact a sense of fellow humaneness. "I know that you don't! I knew your father! We used to work together, and . . !" He had hiccuped, and jolted to his knees in morbid exhilaration. "Please! I have children! My sweet little girls! Please!"

Burr's face had shifted, and begun to contort into a look of pure shock and terror. His words failed him, and he, too, had started to shake in the slightest. "I . ."

Of course, this didn't last long. All Burr had to do was take a look at a fellow general, see his gaze cloud in makeshift confusion, and imagine (Mr. Schulyer) as a dirty swine, one of which was transferring diseases throughout the entirety of his livestock.

"Get off of me!" He had pulled away, and swiftly taken the hiccuping man by the shoulders, before roughly dragging him to the gun on the desk. (Mr. Schuyler) was not too fond of this, proven when he began to kick about, and struggle against his fleshy restraints, all to no avail. He eventually grew still when he bumped the table, and as if retreating from a long fought war, he bowed his head, and began to profusely cry once more. The crowd had done the same.

General Burr eventually went back to his respective spot on the stage, as to watch the murder from afar. A suffocating silence fell upon the building, as only intense sobbing and wheezing could be heard from the crowd. This was almost like a signal to 'Go', for one of the generals, who had been very quietly piping on a talkie for quite some time, took to the scene rather quickly, and picked the gun off of the table. In two seconds, the safety was off, and he was ready to fire, with a full intent to slaughter. 

"Any last words?"

With this, (Mr. Schulyer) slowly raised his head, and began to peruse the crowd with his limited vision. Instead of making a statement, he asked a simple, heart-shattering question.

"Are my daughters here?"

The general assigned to the slaughter looked about his fellow personnel, who all met him with a dark, controversial glare. Eventually, the general cleared his throat. "Yes."

The man seemed to only grow calmer, despite crawling closer and closer to the near proximity of death. 

"And can you tell me where they are seated?"

Again, the general looked about his comrades for approval. No one spoke up. Because of this, the uncertain general took on a composition of frustration.

"Enough of this! Do you have anything to say, or . . ?"

(Mr. Schuyler) quickly dismissed this.

"No, no . . I have something I want to say!"

His eyes panned upwards, and he met the heart of the crowd, hoping his little girls were somewhere amongst the clutter. His hands were twitching, and his lip quavered as he tried to think of satisfactory last words.

"Daughters . ." Hesitation gripped him hard, and the general responded to this by fiddling anxiously with the trigger.

"Go on, then!"

"My beautiful children . . you have to know that I love you. I will always, always love you, and I will never stop. Please, be good, and never forget that I love you. I love you, I love you, Iloveyou, Iloveyou, IloveyouIloveyouIloveyou," and so it droned on, as he was thrown into another fit of sobs. 

And, with that, it was done. The general had impatiently squeezed the trigger, resulting in a mess of gore on the wall adjacent the now limp body of (Mr. Schulyer). The crowd gasped, and started crying loudly. Burr turned away from the bloody pulp, and, when the time came, quickly submerged himself backstage, where he stared at a wall intensely.

It was done. It was done.

 

**

 

"They are not bigger than us."

Burr watched as his Lord, so to speak, King George, began to frantically read through the New Orders' Testament. This series of essays, all of which were published illegally, and without the consent of the King, were very incriminating, and, ultimately, threatening to the King and everything he stood for. It was perceptive to Burr as to why he wanted every last copy of the Testament burned. What he didn't understand, however, was why every piece of literature had to be burned, as they were never a problem before.

"I agree."

"Shush."

King Gorge cursed loudly from the lowest corner of his throat, before throwing the entirety of papers down on his desk in utter disgust.

"Did you read their grievances against me?"

"Unfortunately."

"They're downright nonsensical!" 

Burr hummed in agreement, whilst quietly tapping a finger against his upper thigh. He had to let King George cool down before attempting to even convey his plausible solutions. When the King got upset, he was almost like a child with a magnifying glass. Needless to say, it never ended well for anybody.

"I treat them fairly!"

Burr hummed again.

"Those bastards! They'll never be satisfied with anything I give them, will they? I let them build their own businesses! I let them farm on /my/ land! I let them breed and have their filthy children! What else could they possibly want out of me?"

King George noticed the silence that was transmitted off of Burr, and quickly grew agitated. "Well, Burr, what do you think?"

This question momentarily dumbfounded Burr. He straightened out in his chair, and poised his hands together in such a way that displayed insecurity.

"Well, I . ."

"Jesus Christ!"

By now, the King had gotten out of his chair, and had begun to swiftly pace around his desk. General Burr watched his little fit, and started to feel uncomfortable, proven when he awkwardly kept proportioning his body in the chair.

Eventually, the King stopped in front of his desk, and quickly slid on top of it, as if struck by a thought in which needed to be said aloud immediately.

"Who do you think the author is? Do you think it's a civilian, or an Outlander?"

Burr spoke quietly.

"It has to be a civilian. There is no way an Outlander would come back here just to deliver a few papers."

"A few papers? There are thousands of papers here. Thousands! What if this starts a revolution?"

"Oh, that's silly." Burr saw King George glare at him with a gleam in his eye, and decided to pitch the whole idea. "They're afraid of you, my Lord."

"Fear means nothing."

"They respect you."

The King snorted, before crossing his legs, and staring down at Burr as if he were a cockroach.

"You're oblivious, then."

"Well, I . ."

Burr shifted in his seat. 

"Speak up!"

"I think they respect you, my Lord. They're mostly very appreciative of what you do. There are just some . . bad eggs in there."

"Bad eggs? These are turncoats! These are traitors!" The King stopped for a moment, before flicking his foot, and slightly grimacing. "Burr, you're one of my . . weaker personnel."

Burr shrunk into his chair, only making eye contact with his Lord from the corners of his eyes.

"Don't think I haven't noticed."

"If I may inquire as to what you mean -"

"Do not play ignorant with me. You're a smart man, Burr. That's the reason why I've accepted you into my family."

"And I really do appreciate that, my Lord."

"Of course you do. You're afraid of me."

"My Lord, please -"

King George pushed his fingertips together, and emitted a small hiss. 

"Zip it. Now, I need you to toughen up. Perhaps if I introduce you to the," he cleared his throat, before piping up, "bad part of New York, you'll see these pests for what they really are."

"My Lord, I've been there multiple times."

"But you'll have an assignment, now. Burr, I need you to understand," he leaned forward, "these are not people. These . . things . . are just little luxuries that support us every now and then. With or without them, life would be the same."

"Yes, but -"

"Let me finish!"

Burr was stunned into silence. A look of content unraveled on the King's face.

"Excellent. As you know, we will be searching homes for any literature we can get our hands on starting at the crack of dawn. You will be accompanied by Seabury and Jefferson on this expedition down south."

"Yes, my Lord."

"I would advise you to carry a gun."

"Yes, my Lord."

"Show no mercy. Do not be afraid to make an example of those rowdy 'eggs' that you come across."

"Yes, my Lord."

"Seabury will be doing an evaluation on your behavior. If you do not meet my expectations, which are rather high for a man of your knowledge, I will be forced to relieve you of your duties."

Burr suddenly stopped, unable to comprehend the news immediately in the heat of the moment. Once the gravity of the situation did hit him, however, he nearly jolted out of his chair in suspense. The King noticed this, and was barely able to keep back from smiling.

" . . After all, only the best of civilians can be a part of my family, Burr. You, blatantly, are failing to impress me. Did you know that you have never brought me a prisoner before?"

"My Lord, I have never found it necessary."

"Uh-huh."

Burr stared at the King with wide, startled eyes. 

"So, are we clear? Are we seeing eye-to-eye, Burr, or do I have to spell it out for you?"

"I . ." Burr was perplexed. He had never been put on the spot like this before, and it was stunning, and, truthfully, petrifying.

"Are we clear?"

The spaces in-between these words were daunting, and made Burr want to crawl out of his skin. Eventually, he spoke, in a voice as hushed as the candle sitting on the corner of the King's desk.

"Yes, my Lord. Very."

King George jumped off of his desk, and rubbed his hands together jocularly. 

"That's great! Now, if you wouldn't mind closing the door on your way out, and . . Oh!"

The King pushed his hand in Burr's direction, and, in turn, Burr took it, with a hesitance not yet recorded by man. Slowly, he slid his body down, and, before long, had his lips on the center of King George's hand. This was a quick peck, and it disgusted Burr, as it left a salty, smooshy taste on the tip of his tongue.

"Hm? Why are you still here?"

Burr looked up at George slowly, before opening his lips. Nothing was said, and he found this as an appropriate time as any to rush home. He side-stepped around the chair he was sitting in, and went to the door, only to hear a voice coo from behind him.

". . Tomorrow, bright and early! Be on your A game, General Burr."


End file.
